


Vita Nova

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, a sort of little tell it to the bees au, alternative universe, but mostly conceptually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 18:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: For the first time in many years, Debbie Ocean felt at peace—with herself, with her house, with her bees, with her garden, and most ardently, with the two people who have carved their way into her life unintentionally.





	Vita Nova

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emkat97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emkat97/gifts), [runiwritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/runiwritten/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Noah](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16747039) by [emkat97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emkat97/pseuds/emkat97). 



> i am only halfway through the book Tell It To The Bees, and I have not seen the movie, so really this little AU is very loosely based etc.
> 
> While this fic has no in-universe relation to emkat97's (also known as [smashingmagicklovely](https://smashingmagicklovely.tumblr.com/) on tumble) fic [Noah](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16747039/chapters/39288046), you should read what she has currently posted of it and patiently wait for more because it's great, and because the child in this fic, Noah, and the way Lou and Noah are, is her emotional and intellectual property, and I am grateful that she had let me use that in my writing, because Noah is the best little boy who made me fall for a certain brand of kid fics.
> 
> (::)

The sun had set late on the expanse of the Oceans home's grounds that evening. The little boy who was making his way towards the porch where Debbie stood was carefree among the lilacs and honeysuckles in her garden, running his fingers gingerly along the sedums as he passed by them. Beneath his feet, the earth shifted to accommodate, soft and willing, and Debbie had wondered, not for the first time, how come she was smiling at the sight of him.

"Sometimes," a voice came behind her, less deep and gravel than it had been when Debbie first encountered it—fatigued, then; relieved, that evening—"I wonder if he'll get lost out there."

Debbie turned to see her smile—Lou. Lou Miller. The mother of the boy in question, the woman Debbie could not have fathomed a life with, and then could not have possibly fathomed a life without.

With a little shake of her head and a little reassuring smile of her own, Debbie cupped her cheek, stepped just that much closer. "He knows the way."

"A mother worries."

"Of course she does," Debbie sighed, leaned in to kiss Lou just in time for the boy to crash into their legs with stories tumbling out of his mouth. Not hard enough to topple them over, merely hard enough for Lou to turn away with an apologetic promise in the form of a shrug, a hand ruffling her son's hair as she shifted her sole attention to him.

Debbie watched them make their way into the house as the boy tried to catch up to his words, until their figures disappeared, and she was left alone to close her eyes and feel the breeze of the cooling evening air against her sticky skin, listen to the buzz of her bees going about their jobs; the whoosh of the trees and the silence from any interruptions.

What seems like lifetimes ago, she had inherited a place she wanted nothing to do with. Vastness had surrounded her after her brother's death, her childhood home too much to bear on her own, her mother's bees too loud in the eerie silence of the place now that it stood empty. She thought of getting rid of it, had spent her days pondering the sell, the life beyond it. She used to dream of things—spectacular, big, blingy, shiny, Liz Taylor type of things; then her brother passed away and had just one last request: don't leave this place to rot.

He had a habit of doing that—steering her away from where she wanted to end up, while he did whatever the hell he wanted. Debbie had resented him for that, endlessly, but not that evening; not with the serenity of a family she almost felt brave enough to call her own just a few steps' distance away. Her mother would have laughed if she had only known.

" _You'll never be alone,"_ she used to tell her, and it took Debbie many decades to learn that her mother did not mean the never-ending swarm of bees occupying their grounds like she had thought, but rather—she hoped to be right—herself. Took her many decades to learn that as a child, she didn't really dream of being alone, but rather not feel so surrounded by people. She hated the bees. She hated helping in the hives, getting stung, harvesting honey. She hated even the taste of honey, as a child. Her mother was happy there, though, and before her father's betrayal and her mother's sickness and before Danny had grown up enough to leave, she thought she'd try.

But the bees did not prevent any misfortune and so, Debbie had decided, they weren't worth the try. When she came back here, she thought about removing the hives. She didn't feel like taking care of them, getting stung, harvesting honey when the season comes; yet with every day that had passed she had found herself wondering among them, seeing her mother here or there, and then, without conscious, she had started talking, to no one in particular, stepped into her old suit, the net over her face as defamiliarizing as stepping into her childhood room a grown-up, and began the cleaning, began the reconstruction of colonies lost to time and neglect. New ones would come. She would take care of them. That's what she told them.

Noah would come later. Lou, even later than him. The thought of that moment, the decision she had made to stay without really knowing she had made it, brought a new sensation upon her chest—she felt…lucky, perhaps? Grateful?

For the first time in many years, Debbie Ocean felt at peace—with herself, with her house, with her bees, with her garden, and most ardently, with the two people who have carved their way into her life unintentionally, and were standing then in her kitchen, calling for her: _Debbie!_ _Debbie!_

"Noah, there's no need to—" Lou tried to calm her son, slow him down, have always been well aware of how unusual it was for Debbie to make room for anybody but herself—but have never known how seamlessly the both of them had fit into Debbie's life.

"I told the bees! I told the bees like you said I should!" Noah cried over his mother's castigation, ignorant of such nonsense as grown-ups are preoccupied with.

She remembered—how could she not?—the pure horror on Lou's face when she had found Noah in Debbie's garden. The stumbling apologies when she had surmised that he was in no danger. The harrowing paleness of her skin when she had picked him up, when he had cried that he wants to stay, when she had said they must go back. Debbie remembered—it will always stay with her—the way that Lou had unwound throughout the dinner she agreed to stay for after Debbie, by her own standards, had practically begged (and what brought that act of kindness on to her tongue, she was still unsure of; maybe the bees), and how for the first time since he had stepped foot on her grounds, Noah talked more than two simple sentences combined.

"Miss Ocean lets me help with the plants," he told his mother, who was still weary at that point, holding her coffee between tense, white knuckles.

"Debbie," she corrected him, still couldn't help the confused smile he had constantly brought to her face with his words. _There are not many rocks here_ , or, _purple ones smell better_ , or, _why do they drink water with no sugar in it?_ , or, _could a bee sting another bee?_

"You live here alone?" Lou asked, watching not Debbie, but Noah as he stuffed his mouth full of bread.

"This is my parent's house. My brother had recently passed away."

"He doesn't bother you?"

"Miss Ocean—"

"Debbie—"

"Debbie says she can teach me about the bees."

"That's very kind of her to offer."

"We learn about bees in school, sometimes, did I say? They are poll-in-a-tors, and the honey bee is only one of many, many, many spe-ci-es in the united states, and they are very smart, and there are the queen, and the drones, and the workers, and I can list twenty-two kind of bees from my memory alone, and…"

Lou let Noah run around when they finished eating ("You don't cook much, do you?" Lou teased her, and Debbie laughed and told the truth), set down with Debbie on the porch and accepted the offered beer.

"So what do you do?" Lou asked, then, relaxed enough in her chair to spread her legs and slide a little lower, draw Debbie's eyes to her in a way that wasn't entirely innocent. "Besides, you know," she waved her hand vaguely to gesture at the Oceans' grounds.

Debbie turned away her gaze and sipped her beer, watched Noah's figure getting smaller as he ran over this way and that, between trees. "I plan."

"Plan?"

The next time Lou came to pick Noah up, she had arrived prepared, as early as she could, and Debbie showed her—the first floor renovations she had had in mind and put down onto paper, the second floor, and then the garden. Lou had overlooked the plans carefully, making subtle enough suggestions until Debbie told her that the next time she comes, they could sit on them together.

Debbie's smile had grown wider as she blinked her eyes open on the porch, looked at the darkening sky above her and the sliver of red on them as the stars began to appear, and inhaled the scent of the wisteria that grew around her. When she stepped into her kitchen moments later, she felt as if she had seen this all before, had been here, in a different version of her life—as if that was where she was always meant to end up.

The first time she kissed Lou, she wiped tear tracks off her cheeks first, held her face between two palms and looked into her eyes and made sure that she wasn't making a mistake; so unlike any other time where she had jumped headfirst into trouble. Lou had to be something else—with her back problems from working at the factory too many hours so her son could have an education, and her hands that were as gentle as they were calloused, and the way she stuttered every time Noah would ask about his dad, turn to look at Debbie, of all people, for support, and later, with three bottles of beer shared between the two of them, lean her head against Debbie's shoulder, and tell her that Noah is the best thing that ever happened to her, and she doesn't know how to live with it.

"Not by yourself," Debbie said, wrapped her arm tighter around Lou's waist.

"He's my whole world."

"You deserve even more."

And so Debbie kissed her, the lightbulb on the porch flickering off, leaving them in complete darkness, and Lou sobbed, once, her body falling apart like it had forgotten what it's like to be held—touched, cared for—leaned into Debbie and grabbed the lapels of her shirt.

In the kitchen, Lou was patching up Noah's grazed knee as Noah drank from a glass of water that was too big for a single hand of his, and the both of them looked up at her as she walked towards them—Noah with big, sparkly eyes, and Lou with the eyes that used to be constantly fatigued. Debbie reached her destination with a hand around Lou's waist, taking Noah's glass off his hands when he finished drinking, then clearing hair off his forehead.

"You told the bees, huh? Made it all official?"

"I did."

"I guess we'll have to live a happy life, then," she said, kissed Lou's cheek.

"The bees will help," Noah emboldened her words, and Lou laughed, shook with it; said, "I thought you don't believe in that."

Before Debbie could answer, Noah came to her defense, with his chin high, said, "Of course she does."

They didn't speak a word more of that then, had shifted the conversation to what kind of adventures were awaiting Noah tomorrow as his summer vacation proceeded, and Lou made them dinner as Debbie took over the grazed knee, her heart beating frantically—alive.

"Why did you take him in?" Lou asked the night Debbie had kissed her, Noah asleep in one of the rooms that used to mean something—and Debbie dared not hope yet might mean something again—and Lou playing with Debbie's hair in Debbie's bed.

"He seemed distressed. I didn't know why."

"Why did you invite me to dinner?"

"I didn't want to let you go. I didn't know why."

"And now you do?"

"Maybe it's the bees."

"You don't believe in that."

Since Lou had taken over the cooking, Noah stopped complaining, and Debbie had to admit that previously he had a good reason to. With Debbie's help, Lou could lay some hours off from work, and with Lou's help, they were almost ready to start the renovations. A few days prior to that evening, Noah and Lou had officially moved in. Debbie proposed that morning.

"There are many things," she told Lou later, finally in bed, "that I believe in now."

Lou put her palm to Debbie's neck, thumb at her pulse point, murmured, "I love you," then fell asleep.

That night, Debbie had known in her heart—that night they were starting their lives all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> i am also on [tumblr](https://straperine.tumblr.com/) if you want me
> 
> comments are appreciated <3
> 
> The line "could a bee sting another bee" is indeed from a tig notaro comedy special


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